A Shadow of Mine
by Arudon
Summary: Reborn as a Direwolf of House Stark, Harry must learn to adapt to the harsh world he now finds himself surrounded by. After finding an unlikely ally in the form of a reborn Dark Lord, Harry and Tom must work together to reshape the continent of Westeros, carving their destiny into the land with steel, blood, fire, and yes- magic. Direwolf!Harry
1. The Three-Eyed-Raven

**Well, here we are again. I seem to be putting out a lot of new stories nowadays! Here's the first installment of a wonderful series that I have planned. It has been inspired by the wonderful works of Barbasulrico's The Game of Lord Voldemort.**

 **Now, I've already published this story once before, but due to negative feedback I took it down and reworked it into something much darker. Thank you people of Fanfiction for reminding me that we cannot have a proper story in this universe without at least one fucked up thing happening. Thank you very much for disillusioning me from my stupid, stupid fantasy and putting me into another deluded dream of power and madness! Yay!**

 **I don't own Harry Potter or Game of Thrones. All character recognition goes to J. K. Rowling and G. R. R. Martin/HBO.**

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open abruptly, his breath catching in his throat as he inhaled too quickly, panic sending his blood pumping like mad.

His lungs heaving in a moment of panic, Harry reached a hand up to grip his chest, where his heart seemed to be trying to escape from his ribcage.

His mind was reeling in terror and anger. DAMN! How could this happen to me!? **_HOW?! We were so close!_**

It had been two days after the battle of Hogwarts, and Harry had been helping the ministry with the cleanup of the old school, the power granted to him by the Elder Wand speeding up the process terrifically, allowing them to heal the castle grounds and restore her magic.

They had been working on the western wall when the attack came. A group of Death Eaters, led by a man named Horvath, had apparated into their midst and opened fire, launching spells of the darkest variety in every direction. Taken by surprise, the builders had been slow to defend themselves, and before Harry had known quite what was happening he was the only one left on the wall, now faced with over twenty Death Eaters.

Even with the power of the Elder Wand, he had only been able to take down about half of them before his defenses fell.

In under a second, six spells struck him in the chest, knocking him off his feet and launching him into the air, surrounded in a brilliant halo of magic.

One of them had been the Avada Kedavra.

All of those around him had screamed and flocked to defend his corpse, hoping against all hope that the Boy-Who-Lived could somehow cheat death once again.

Their hopes were in vain, however.

Harry Potter was dead.

At least, he _assumed_ he was dead. He certainly didn't _feel_ all that dead. In fact, he had never felt so alive, so full of life. It was as if some supernatural force had simply stripped him of all the years of punishment with the Dursleys and the war, leaving him bare and innocent as the day he was born.

Speaking of birth, Harry was also quite naked, his bare form floating in nothingness without even a scrap of cloth to cover himself with. This included his glasses, so he was left squinting in an attempt to see.

Not that there was anything _to_ see. Nothing but inky blackness surrounded him on all sides, startlingly ominous in Harry's opinion, seeing as how he was so vulnerable.

In fact, the only light present seemed to be emanating from Harry himself. Looking down at his naked form, Harry noted with surprise that his skin was glowing a brilliant pale green color, very similar to the green found in the Slytherin dorms back in Hogwarts.

He alone cast light into the darkness, his naked form shining like a beacon for any and all to see.

No.

Not blackness.

Or at least, not completely.

There…and there. And there too!

Harry could just barely make them out, but there seemed to be incredibly faint lights zipping about in the darkness, appearing for moments at a time before fading out of his sight.

As his eyes adjusted to the blackness of the space, he began to perceive more and more of these lights, their forms growing stronger with every passing second. They seemed to be appearing and disappearing at random, their actions erratic and unpredictable. Some moved incredibly fast and tore across the blackness like comets through space, while others appeared to barely move at all, staying on one direct course throughout their brief existence.

A light suddenly flashed into being close to Harry, and the wizard's eyes widened in shock as his gaze landed on the form of an old man, just as naked and glowing as he was, curled up in the fetal position and floating along with his eyes shut tight.

A human soul, Harry realized.

There were souls all around him.

 _'So this must be Limbo,'_ he thought to himself, his eyes widening in wonder as he began to get closer looks at the souls. _'I wonder why I didn't come here the first time around.'_

Suddenly, Harry yelped in surprise as something yanked on his lower back, disturbing his gentle floating path and dragging him down a few feet.

Twisting about, Harry's brilliant green eyes searched for whatever had grabbed him, eventually landing on a brilliantly gleaming cord that stretched down into the abyss. Glowing with a bright golden energy, Harry watched as it weaved and bobbed in the air, its substance appearing to be made up of seven other small fibers.

Following the length with his eyes, Harry looked in growing concern as he saw that the end of the cord was securely attached to his lower back, right above his rear end and directly opposite his belly button, like a reverse umbilical cord.

Suddenly, the cord went taught, and Harry was immediately jerked downwards by the force of the rope, plunging him down into the inky blackness of the abyss.

Faster and faster he was pulled, his breath leaving him in pants as he started to panic. All around him the lights from the other souls blurred as he passed them by, creating a curious tunnel-vision feeling and leaving him a nauseating sense of vertigo.

Suddenly, Harry's fall ceased, and he was spun about in the air as the chord shifted. Moving from the his back to his chest. Watching in curiosity, Harry marveled as the cord split up into its seven individual filaments, four of which wrapped around his appendages while the others securely fastened themselves to his neck, chest, and lower torso.

Harry jumped in surprise again as a flash of greenish light burst into being before his eyes, leaving him blinded for just a moment. Blinking owlishly, Harry was eventually able to make out the figure of another form before him as the light faded: a tiny body with floppy ears, limp tail, and pitch black fur.

A wolf pup.

"What?" Harry asked in confusion, before suddenly the cords tightened once again, their opposite ends wrapping around the corresponding body parts on the wolf pup.

Harry tried to resist as his form was pulled forward, but he seemed powerless to stop his momentum as the cords dragged him towards the body.

He felt the shape of his soul begin to splinter and break as he was restisted, and before he knew it the cords had won. He was dragged kicking and screaming into the wolf pup's body, his glowing essence seeming to seep through the skin and fur of the animal.

Harry let out a cry of pain as a fire coursed up and down his new body, alighting every nerve on fire and causing him to wriggle and writhe in agony. Harry felt a blooming sensation appear in his chest, and suddenly an old scent found its way into his new nose: cinnamon, with a hint of pine needles and sawdust.

The scent of his magical core.

He let out a sigh as his core wove itself into the body of the wolf pup, his mind relaxing after the incredible pain only a few moments ago. As his eyes began to droop, Harry's body finally ceased glowing, his soul now firmly encased in his new body.

With a final breath, Harry relaxed fully, allowing his mind to fall into a pitch black sleep.

He would awake soon enough, but for now he would rest.

Just rest….

* * *

When he regained consciousness, Harry's mind was incredibly fuzzy. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear.

He could barely move his body at all, but he could still feel his surroundings. He appeared to be on a rough floor, pressed up against something warm and soft. Wriggling his body instinctively, Harry moved forward, his mouth opening up to emit tiny squeals and whines.

Suddenly, his nose bumped against a hard bud of supple flesh, which rose up from the surrounding soft surface like a nub. Without truly thinking about the reasons why, he responded to his basic instincts and sealed his mouth around the nub, beginning to suck as he did so.

Immediately, a warm, soothing liquid spilled into his mouth and down his throat.

He moaned in happiness.

* * *

In the middle of the Wolfswood forest, a mother Direwolf sat at the base of her den, staring down on her eight puppies with a calm, belabored expression only won after hours of heavy labor and effort.

They looked healthy enough, their coats still wet with birthing juices. Leaning down she began to lick them clean, trying to clean all the slime off of their fur before it had time to dry and matt.

They were all different colors and genders from what she could tell. A good thing to have in her new pack.

The smallest of the litter, the runt, had pure white fur, a rather uncommon coat color. She suspected he would be an albino, but she wouldn't know until his eyes opened in two weeks time.

The black one in particular had given her some trouble, but she was glad he had pulled through in the end. It had felt almost as if he had died at one point, but miraculously he had come back from the brink, fully healthy once again.

Crooning, she bent her head down and nuzzled her babies, warmth spilling from deep within her heart as she stared at her brood.

* * *

Two weeks passed, and the pups' eyes soon opened. Just like she had suspected, the runt's eyes were pure red, the mark of an albino Direwolf. They were incredibly rare, and she hoped that he could survive long enough to make use of his camouflaging fur.

Even more curious were the eyes of her black pup: he had the purest green eyes she had ever seen in her life.

They were greener than the leaves that grew on the trees; greener than the grass that rested beneath her feet.

Greener than even the moss that grew on the side of the Weirwood tree, which even the animals knew were blessed by the gods.

Those beautiful orbs glowed with the fire of a thousand souls, as if the gods themselves had gifted the pup with emeralds instead of eyes.

He was also the most inquisitive of her pups, examining everything with a burning curiosity that was even greater than that of a normal wolf pup. He kept trying to climb out of the den, like a moth drawn to a burning candle. She had to be ever watchful of him.

The outside world was far too dangerous for a two week old pup.

* * *

Soon enough, a month had passed, and the pups were all walking around and playing with each other, as they should. The wolf mother still did not allow the pups to leave the den though, for another predator had moved into her woods: a Shadowcat, one of her natural rivals.

She wasn't sure how it had made its way south of The Wall. Perhaps it had followed her through the secret mountain pass, making its way out of the frozen wilderness and into this land of plenty.

Who knows. All she knew for sure was that her pups would not end up as its next meal.

However, food was rapidly running short as the pups slowly weaned themselves off of her milk. Direwolves matured much faster than normal wolves, but once they reached adulthood they could live indefinitely, the oldest of them being thousands of years old.

Such was the magic of the Direwolf.

However, even magical creatures such as they were still susceptible to killers like hunger and thirst, and some of the pups were rapidly growing restless and eager to leave.

Something had to be done soon.

* * *

Harry hated feeling like this. He hated the fuzziness of his thoughts, hated the way words seemed to appear inside his head whenever he looked at things. Like ROCK, and DIRT, and BUG.

He didn't know where they came from, or how he knew them. The rest of his siblings didn't know the name for any of these things, it was only him.

He knew the name for himself as well: Harry. That was his first cohesive thought from the moment after he opened his eyes and looked down at himself.

Harry.

None of his brothers and sisters had names. Wolves didn't have such distinction. Your scent alone was difference enough, and besides, they were family.

They didn't need too much distinction as it was.

So Harry kept his name to himself, spending all his time examining the cave den and playing with his siblings; only ever dreaming of the day when he would know what his name meant.

* * *

The wolf mother awoke one morning to find that one of her pups, her youngest daughter, stopped moving.

It was her black pup that first noticed that something was amiss, his frantic cries alerting the rest of his family to their sister's inert form.

The pup had been acting sickly for the past few days, so it was not that surprising to the mother. Tragic, yes; and terribly upsetting. But not altogether unexpected.

This was not her first litter, after all.

Walking over to the dead pup, she bent down and snuffled her body, trying to piece together what had caused her death. As her nose brushed against the little wolf's sternum, her yellow eyes widened as her sensitive nose brushed along the pup's ribs.

So, it was starvation then.

She had been making short trips in and out of the cave for the past few days, trying to bring in as much food as possible. Apparently this little one hadn't been able to get enough.

It was always so sad when this happened, but she had known it would. When you had a litter this big, odds are at least one of them would not survive. Honestly, she was surprised it wasn't the runt who had died, his scrawny frame not seeming to be big enough to push his brothers and sisters out of the way. Normally the smallest ones never managed to get ahold of food.

However, the albino had fought tooth and claw to hold onto his portions of the meal, always making sure that he had enough to survive. Even now he stood beside her, his bright, intelligent red eyes staring down at the corpse of his sister.

His mouth began to water as his nose picked up the scent of her tender flesh. Glancing up at his mother, his bright red eyes met her cool yellow, begging silently. With a nod of her head, the mother gave the white wolf permission. With hunger gleaming in his brilliant eyes, the wolf pup bent down and sank his milky white teeth into the corpse's throat, ripping through fur and flesh to spill the remains of her blood out onto the den floor.

The rest of the pups, with the exception of the black wolf, surged forward and also sank their teeth into the soft flesh, feeding their hungry bellies with the tender young meat.

After all, why would they waste a meal?

This is how life is in the North.

* * *

Harry hid his face in the corner, unable to watch the carnage that was taking place not three feet from him.

This was wrong! He wasn't sure why but something deep inside him was telling him that this was very, _very_ wrong. That used to be their sister for the gods' sake!

His stomach rumbled as his ever keen nose caught a whiff of the sweet blood pouring out onto the dirt floor. He shivered in disgust at his own body's reaction; he hadn't gotten nearly enough at feeding times, and the flesh was so near and smelled so _tasty_.

 _If only I could just get a little closer…_

Harry snapped back to his senses to find himself inches away from sinking his teeth into his dead sister's flank, his saliva dripping off his tiny milk fangs in anticipation. Recoiling in disgust, he shoved himself back against the wall of the cave, shivering in terror at the way his body was reacting.

Suddenly, he felt a curious sensation at the back of his head, as if someone were tickling his fur there. Whipping around, he looked up in confusion to see no one there, just the dirt and rock of the den ceiling.

The feeling, however, persisted, and gradually Harry began to feel another presence enter his mind. He wasn't sure who it was, or even _what_ it was. But it gradually, gently, reached out to touch his mind, every movement it made seeming to be borne of curiosity.

Unbeknownst to Harry, his eyes seemed to glaze over as the consciousness examined him, his body relaxing slightly. _"You're hungry,"_ a voice suddenly said, and it took Harry a moment to realize it was the consciousness who had spoken. _"Eat."_

 _"I can't"_ Harry thought back, his head swiveling to look at the corpse. " _She's my sister!_ "

" _She **was** your sister,_ " the voice corrected, sounding very perturbed. " _Now she's just meat. Your life is more important,_ " it said.

Harry gulped, turning his whole body to face the tender looking meat, the scent of the blood intoxicating his senses and almost hypnotizing him. " _Eat,"_ the consciousness said again, and Harry obeyed.

As if in a trance, the wolf pup moved forward, following the call of his Instincts. Bending down, he opened his mouth and sank his teeth into the corpse's haunch, the rich blood and tangy sweetness of the meat sending the young wolf's senses into sheer nirvana.

" _Oooohh, this is goooood…_ " he moaned, and the other consciousness rumbled. " _Don't ever be so stupid again,_ " it said, before he felt it retract from his mind, its presence growing weaker and weaker before finally it disappeared altogether.

Harry was left with a mouthful of meat and the knowledge that he was participating in what essentially amounted to cannibalism.

Shrugging his shoulders, he swallowed the meat and took another bite.

The voice was right: it doesn't matter now. She's dead, I'm not. The strong survive, the weak die off.

Such is the way of the Direwolf.

Such is the way of the North.

* * *

After another month of hunting and growing, the wolf mother finally deemed her pups ready to be let outside of the safety of the den and into the outside world. The seven remaining wolf pups were all a little hesitant to step outside (with the exception of the black one; he couldn't have been happier), but after a little coaxing from their mother they all stood in the sunlight, staring up at this new world of color and sound with unbridled awe.

It was incredible! To see and hear the sounds of the forest when before they could only briefly smell them on their mother was a marvel to the younger wolves, their inexperienced senses overloading them with sensations they had never before experienced.

The woods smelled so close! Each bird call, each rustle, every gust of wind; it all sent their spines tingling and their hearts racing.

This was the North!

This was their home!

They quickly got about the task of exploring the area, under the watchful eye of their mother of course. She did not let down her guard, not even for a moment. The Shadowcat was still in the area, and the enormous cat was still just as dangerous as ever. Probably even more so, now that the herds of elk had moved out of the Wolfswood. Only the occasional straggler would stagger through the trees, usually young bucks that had gotten lost or separated from the herd.

Not usually the best of targets for any predator, regardless of size.

And Shadowcats were often known to prey on the young of others. Particularly wolf cubs.

 _She would be damned if she let some overgrown feline eat one of **her** pups! _

* * *

Two wolf pups made their way out of the den one morning, their coats shimmering gorgeously in the rising sun's light; one pitch black, the other a whitish gray.

Their noses were set to the ground as they scented for tracks, the smells of squirrels, voles, and other such creatures of the forest flashing through their heads as they tried to decide what to do today. Quickly, they exited the den-clearing, going beyond the boundaries of the bushes and into the Wolfswood.

It had been two weeks since the wolves had been let out of the den, and their mother had finally relaxed her guard, allowing her brood to wander and roam. Within a set distance, of course.

Harry couldn't have been more pleased! Maybe now he could find out what the names in his head meant!

As they traversed the land, Harry's bright green eyes roved back and forth across the landscape, his keen vision picking out each and every plant, animal, stick, stone, and everything else in between. His ears rotated on his head, his lupine hearing allowing him to hear all the sounds around him, from the rustling of the squirrels in the trees, to the calling of birds, to even the tiniest of insect feet upon the ground and in the earth.

However, it was his nose that was truly the most impressive of his oral faculties.

The scents of the whole forest were revealed to the young wolf pup as he scented the air. He could smell it all: Bears, rabbits, foxes, his brother, the trees, the stones, the Earth itself.

He could smell water babbling in the brook two miles to the east. He could smell a badger digging a tunnel three miles to the southwest. He could smell a hawk high above his head, circling on a thermal updraft and looking for its next victim.

Such was the power of a Direwolf: their senses were so indescribably fine-tuned that the whole of the forest opened up to them like a map. Harry knew where everything was: the plants, the animals, his brother, the rest of his family.

Even if he were to fall down a cliff, conk his head, and get washed down a river, as long as he managed to climb back out of the water he would be able to find his way home; just on his nose alone.

Although, something was strange this day.

There was a scent that he and his brother were following that neither of them had ever smelled before.

It was soft, like the mossy smell you get when dew is left on an oak tree in the morning and doesn't evaporate quickly enough, leaving the bark soaked through with sap and water.

But it was also tangy, like the smell of freshly minced meat, the kind that his mother would often bring in from her hunting expeditions.

However, most important of all was the fact that the scent seemed to _call out_ to Harry, as if there were something deep within him that was being drawn towards the origin of that scent.

It smelled like power, like home. And it smelled like himself, in a very strange way.

His brother didn't share any of his feelings though. Only Harry could feel the call, feel the way his gut twisted and turned as something cried out to him, calling him deeper into the forest.

Still, his brother was curious enough to follow, so who's to say who the wiser is.

* * *

The wolves stopped as they crested a hill, their yellow and green eyes widening respectively as they were faced with a wondrous sight.

There, at the base of the hill, was a small clearing surrounded on all sides by a massive network of roots and knolls. They spread out all across the forest ground, overlapping with other tree roots to create a confusing mess of gnarled bark and sap; intricate yet simple all at the same time. A natural web.

But what truly commanded the wolves' attention sat at the front of the clearing. There an enormous tree, bigger than any the two wolves had seen so far, towered into the sky, its branches shooting out in all directions and providing a filtered canopy for the clearing below it.

The tree's bark was sheet white, with bright green moss growing in patches here and there along its trunk and branches. Its leaves, however, were a burnt red color, seeming to match the shade of blood that flowed through the wolf pup's veins.

And there, etched into the trunk of the tree and facing the clearing, was the most curious sight of all: a massive face. Blood red sap flowed from the eyes, making it seem as if the tree itself was weeping blood; and its mouth was opened wide in what appeared to be a wail.

Harry's jaw dropped slightly as he realized what this was. He had heard stories from his mother about these trees, the ones enchanted by the gods themselves.

This was a Weirwood tree.

A Godswood.

Taking tentative steps, the two wolf pups began to descend from the crest of the hill and approach the clearing, a curious sense of pressure tickling their senses. The smell of power pervaded the air, causing their ears to flatten onto their heads and their hackles rise slightly to reveal developing fangs.

Soon enough, the two reached the base of the hill and entered the clearing, their bright green and yellow eyes firmly latched onto the impressive tree. As they drew closer, a curious humming gradually reached their ears, as if long dead animals, or perhaps even the gods themselves, were trying to whisper in their ears.

Harry's brother whimpered, forcing the black pup's bright green eyes to swivel towards him. The other pup was trembling in fear, his eyes darting back and forth in anxiety. Clearly, he didn't feel the same tugging sensation in his gut that Harry did.

The urgent sense of belonging. Or was it calling?

He didn't know. Didn't care. All he knew was that he had to reach the tree.

Bumping his shoulder against his brother's, Harry continued to move forward, the other trailing reluctantly alongside him. Breaking through the bushes, they entered the clearing, the humming getting louder with every step.

Harry paused in his forward stride for a moment, another curious scent that wasn't the Godswood wafting through the air to reach his nose.

He didn't recognize it. It was cold and bristly, and just a bit damp. It smelled like Ice that hadn't melted in the morning, accompanied with the coppery smell of blood.

Strange.

His mind was distracted from the thoughts of the curious smell when the Weirwood seemed to call out to him again, the tugging in his gut returning with a vengeance as it drew him toward the tree. Harry staggered forward for a moment, before he once again found his footing and proceeded with his approach.

As soon as he was within a foot of the tree, the tugging stopped. Harry sat down, confused. His bright green eyes looked up at the weeping face of the Weirwood, trying to divine the reason for this strange summons.

Suddenly, he felt a curious presence enter his mind. At first he thought it was the same consciousness as back in the cave, but a few seconds was all it took to dissuade him from this notion. This presence felt…older, somehow. It moved more slowly, and seemed to contain far more than just one voice. It was as if an entire forest was trying to communicate with him, and the young pup swooned where he sat, his mind practically overloaded with emotions.

His brother yelped in surprise as Harry's whole body seemed to go limp where he sat, an unseen force the only thing that remained to keep him upright. His eyes dilated his eyelids fell down halfway, giving him the appearance of being in an absolute stupor.

The tree was once again calling out to him, urging him closer and trying to get deeper into his mind. With sleepy, ponderous movements, Harry sat up on his hind legs and leaned forward, his paws outstretched towards the tree.

As soon as his toes touched the white bark of the tree, visions slammed into his mind, freezing him in place and sending him through convulsions.

Images flashed before his eyes, terrifying in both power and scale.

A castle, constructed entirely of black stone, sat at the base of an enormous wall of ice and stone.

Past the wall, wild forests spread out in all directions, covered in snow and ice. Strange creatures stirred there, wild, black cats and strange, willowy creatures with glowing blue eyes.

Even farther past that was an another Weirwood tree, this one even larger than the one Harry was at right now. It too overlooked a clearing, only this one made of ice and snow. Hidden beneath the ice, Harry could see the outline of skeletal creatures, terrifying in appearance, and not nearly as dead as they appeared.

Moving closer to the tree, Harry's vision was drawn upwards towards the branches of the tree, where a curious black bird was sitting scrutinizing him.

Harry let out a yelp of surprise when he realized the bird had three shiny black eyes; two in their normal positions, and one on top of his forehead.

A three eyed raven.

The curious bird cocked its head to the side as it scrutinized Harry, as if it wasn't quite sure what it was looking at.

 _"Who are you, little one?"_ it asked, its voice ancient and mysterious, appearing to speak in five or six different voices at once. The raven's sharp three eyed gaze stared deeply into the pup's own bright green eyes, the wolf almost rendered speechless by the ancient presence's power.

The bird blinked all three of its eyes, as if waiting for his response. Harry stumbled over his words for a moment, before finally he decided to answer truthfully. _"Harry,"_ he responded, his own voice willowy and soft compared to the raven's ancient baritone.

 _"Harry?"_ the raven asked, cocking its head to the side. " _What a curious name."_

Harry's vision suddenly wavered as the presence seemed to shift in his mind. _"A curious name for a curious creature. Tell me, Harry, for how long have you had this power?"_

Harry paused in confusion, not sure what that meant. " _Power? What power? I don't have any power!"_ he said, confusion lacing his words.

The raven chuckled, his black form shaking and bobbing in its perch. _"Do not think to hide it from me. I sensed your power from the moment you were born, but until now you were too far away for me to See."_

The raven leaned forward, its beady black eyes narrowing to a point. " _Answer me this, then: why are you called Harry? Do any of your brothers and sisters have names?_ " he asked.

Harry shook his head. " _No sir, just me._ "

The raven nodded, as if Harry had just confirmed a suspicion of his. " _I see. And did your mother give this name?_ " he asked.

Harry shook his head again, his confusion mounting. " _No sir,_ " he answered.

The raven, despite it having only a beak, seemed to smirk. " _Then tell me, Harry: how do you know that you are named Harry?_ " it asked.

Harry paused, unsure of how to answer.

He shook his head from side to side. " _I don't know sir. I just do._ "

The raven seemed to ponder this, before he leaned back down, his form seeming to puff up and waver for a moment. " _And do you know the names of other things, Harry?_ " he asked.

Harry nodded. " _They just appear in my head: words, names of things, things that shouldn't even have a name._ "

The raven hummed, fanning its wings in thought. Suddenly, its eyes seemed to light up, and it leaned forward yet again. " _Harry, what do you know of MAGIC?_ "

Harry gasped as the last word escaped the raven's mouth, as more words and images suddenly flashed through his head.

 _Cupboard. Letter. Wand. Diagon Alley. Hagrid. Hermione. Ron. Hogwarts. Owl. Broom. **Voldemort!**_

Harry screamed as the visions abruptly stopped, leaving his head reeling and a stinging sensation in his forehead. The owl cocked his head to the side, a pensive look in his three eyes.

 _"Curious,"_ he said, leaning forward to peer down at the little wolf pup. " _It seems that Fate has played a little game here,_ " he said, his feathers ruffling as he spoke.

Harry moaned and looked back up at the raven, his head still stinging from the visions. " _Fa-Fate?_ " he asked, not understanding what the three eyed raven meant by that.

The raven nodded his black head, his beak bobbing up and down. " _Yes, Fate. It appears that you are not of this world. At least, not originally. Fate appears to have brought you here, but for what, I do not know,"_ he said cryptically.

Harry looked up at the raven in frustration. Why couldn't the old thing just start making sense?

 _"Why?"_ he asked.

The raven shook his head. " _I cannot hope to divine the workings of Fate. She is a devious mistress, one that is wily and quite unpredictable, just like life itself is. However, what is undisputable is that you hold within yourself terrific power!_ " he said.

Harry's eyes widened. " _Power?_ " he asked.

The raven bobbed up and down in affirmation. " _Yes, Power! And a terrifying amount at that! Should you release it all, you would burn brighter than even the sun itself, I believe._ "

The raven paused then, its eyes narrowing abruptly. " _That being said, I sense that this power is far from tempered. Already it has almost brought upon your demise. Had it not been for the intervention of an outside party, I fear it would have killed you._ "

Now Harry was just plain confused. " _Killed me? Third Party? What do you mean?_ " he asked.

The raven narrowed his eyes. " _Do you remember that day in the cave, when you refused to eat your sister, even if it would mean your own probable death?"_ he asked.

Harry nodded.

The raven continued. _"That was your power speaking to you. It is overwhelmingly bright, a truly pure and righteous soul._ "

The raven spread his wings. " _This is not a bad thing; oh no, far from it! It is a mark of true compassion, one that is rare in this troubled land of ours. However, brilliant lights that burn too brightly may oftentimes devour their source, like a bonfire that burns through all its wood._ "

The raven turned away from Harry and began to pace up and down the tree branch, its form bobbing and swaying as it continued to speak. " _However, even though I was too far away to help you, I was not the only one to observe your predicament. Another power, one that lies far to the south and beyond my Sight, was attracted to your light, and helped you overcome its glare._ "

The raven paused in its pacing and turned back to face Harry. " _That power though…._ "

The raven shuddered. " _It was the purest black I have ever seen, veritably evil. Just as your light sought to burn you out, so too did this darkness seek to consume its owner. I watched as it siphoned off some of your light, allowing it to extend its existence just a little while longer. Never before have I seen two power so perfectly balance each other. It was almost as if you were destined for each other._ "

The raven sighed and shook his head, once again turning back to his pacing. " _If only I could have seen him. Damn the Andals for burning down the Weirwood trees. How I wish I could still see there._ "

The raven paused, a small chuckle spilling from his beak. " _Although, there is one growing there. I know no how or why, but I can feel it. Soon, I will be able to See there as well."_

Harry shook his head from side to side in wonder. " _Who are you!?_ " he asked.

The raven ceased his pacing and turned back to face the wolf pup. _"I was wondering when you would ask me that,"_ he said, his voice rumbling with amusement. _"I am whatever name you give me. The three eyed raven, the blood raven, all names given to me by others. In truth, I am a Seer. The Last Greenseer, to be precise. I long believed that those with the Sight had died off, but it appears that you and two others possess it as well."_

The raven turned to look down on the little wolf, his three eyes flashing with intrigue. " _I will call those two to me, but you, I fear, have a different path before you. One day, a man will come and take you to the South, where together you will carve your destiny into this land through blood and fire, just as AgonTargaryan did of old."_

The raven broke eye contact with the wolf and looked up, spreading his wings as he did so. _"And now, little one, I fear our time has drawn to a close. You are needed in the physical realm."_

The raven took off from the branch, winging away into the white fog surrounding them.

The wolf pup jumped up, surprise etched into his eyes as he chased after the retreating raven. _"WAIT! PLEASE, WAIT, DON'T LEAVE! TELL ME WHO THIS MAN IS? HOW WILL I KNOW HIM?!"_ he cried out.

The raven looked down, his three beady black eyes flashing red for a moment. " _You'll know, little wolf. You'll know. Now remember, beware the darkness, but do not trust the light blindly: while a light may be pretty and safe, you must always look for the source, for Hellfire burns just as brightly as any other flame."_

The raven's form then began to blur, his body streamlining into a cloud of smoke as the vision began to crumble.

The wolf pup stood transfixed as the world seemed to spin and spin, the Weirwood tree disappearing as its leaves peeled off one by one, its trunk disappearing into the blizzard. Slowly the ground fell away, leaving the pup standing on a blank nothingness. Falling to the ground, the pup felt dizziness course through him, the sound of his own blood pumping through his veins becoming louder every second.

With a shudder, Harry closed his eyes, falling back into his own consciousness as the presence faded from his mind.

* * *

"Brother," a voice whispered into Harry's ear. "Something's here." With a shudder, Harry jerked awake, his eyes flying open to reveal bright green eyes. Swiveling his head, he turned to look at his brother, who was once again trembling in fear, his dark yellow eyes snapping back and forth as his nose quivered.

Harry was about to ask what the matter was when his own nose erupted with activity, the scent of an unidentifiable animal reaching his nose.

The scent was the same one from earlier, only about ten times stronger now. Once again, Harry's nostrils were filled with the scent of moving ice and blood, accompanied by a mangy scent of unwashed fur.

"Brother, I'm scared," his brother whimpered, pressing his furry body up against Harry's own black fur and trembling.

"Hush," Harry snapped, his ears perking up as a curious crackling sound came from out in the bushes.

Something large was moving towards them. The smell of blood began to get stronger and stronger, as whatever it was grew ever closer, attracted by the scent of Direwolf pups.

"Stay behind me," Harry whispered to his brother, who nodded and cowered behind the black pup, quaking and shivering in fear.

Harry's eyes narrowed on the bushes as they rustled and shook, the scent of ice and blood now thicker than ever before.

With a final rustle, a shadow emerged from the bushes, hulking and massive and with large, protruding teeth.

Harry's mouth dropped open in terrified awe at the refined vision of death that met his eyes.

The creature was large, larger even than their mother, and its coat was almost entirely black. However, unlike Harry's fur, dark blue stripes interlaced with the black to create a layer of camouflage. Deep, startling blue eyes peered out from its black face, and behind it a long tail swished back and forth, a bright blue tip of fur at the very end.

The smell of Ice and Blood wafted off of it like it was a grim reaper from behind the wall.

It was a Shadowcat.

* * *

 **Dun-Dun-DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNN! Love that cliffhanger ending!**

 **Don't worry, we'll see more from our friend Mr. Shadowcat next chapter, but first, you have to tell me how you liked this reworking. Like I said before, a lot of people didn't like the first rendition of this story, so I hope this was more to your tastes.**

 **And speaking of tastes, I am not exaggerating at all when I say that real wolf families do eat their own young should they die, especially if they have large litters. Its gruesome, but it's true.**

 **I'll probably give you a glimpse of Kings Landing next chapter. Like I said, this story was inspired by the Game of Lord Voldemort, something I have no shame in admitting. I will be working as a beta for that story, during which time I will be writing and coming up with good ideas for this one.**

 **That pretty much wraps up this chapter. Let me know what you think. Seriously, p** **lease review; I am so very much a sucker for those wonderful slices of feedback.**

 **Thank you-** Arudon

 **(If you don't review, I'll mount your head on a stick and force your loved ones to stare at it! :D)**

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	2. Across the Realms

**Well, here goes another chapter. Thanks so much to everyone who reviews, I love you all dearly. That being said, there are a few reviews I would like to address.**

 **Firstly, to PreludeofWater: Allow me to stretch my vocal chords to reenact what you have described:**

 **Ho-dor...** (*SHLUNK*) (*Splurt*) **Hodor** **Hooo...** (Oh GODS THE PAIN! THE HUMANITY)...Ho-dor Ho-dor Ho-dooooooooooor! _(WHY IS THERE A GIANT FAT MAN TRYING TO KILL ME WITH AN AXE WHILE SINGING? ****WHY?!** )**_

 **I hope that pretty much captures it, don't you think?**

 **(WARNING: THE NEXT RESPONSE CONTAINS GRAPHIC LANGUAGE. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE TAINTED, SKIP IT...YOU PUSSY).**

 **To M. Soze, if you're still reading this story: fuck you. Seriously, take yourself, and go fuck yourself, with yourself. If there is anything I hate more than presumptuous little dickheads like yourself coming onto this sight and trashing my stories _twice;_ it's presumptuous dickheads who haven't even written a story of their own and still have the gall to criticize others. I don't ever want to see you post another review on this story, and if you're reading, leave. You are officially the first person on this sight that I have ever genuinely hated. I hope you're happy with yourself, and I also hope and pray that the real life version of Ramsay Sno- sorry, _Bolton_ finds you and treats you accordingly.**

 **To lambtastic: sorry buddy, this is Game of Thrones. I hope you weren't too attached to all those siblings. :P  
But really, thanks for the review and for being so enthusiastic. I just know that we'll have a fun time together on this fic!**

 **Thanks again to the wonderful Barbasulrico (you go girl!) for inspiring this story, and I hope everyone here checks out her fic: the Game of Lord Voldemort.**

 **To everyone else, thank you again and again and again and again and again! I wish you all safe reading, and I'll see you at the bottom of the page! Now: READ!**

* * *

Kings Landing

The heart of the Seven Kingdoms, the capital city of Westeros, and the seat of power throughout the continent. Home to a thriving population of over half a million people, and the center for trade, arts, currency, and politics throughout the Kingdoms.

Located at the mouth of Blackwater Rush, one of the mightiest rivers in the land, the massive city looked out onto Blackwater Bay to the east, the Kingswood to the south, and flat lands to the west and north, making it almost impossible for Kings Landing to be taken by surprise.

Three hundred years previously, this was the place where Aegon Targaryen first landed with his Valyrian soldiers and three dragons in order to launch his invasion.

Hence the name: Kings _Landing._

High inside the walls of the city and towering above the rest of the rabble stood the pride of the Seven Kingdoms: the Red Keep, commissioned by Aegon shortly after securing his rule over all the kingdoms with the exception of Dorne. Later completed by his successor Maegor Targaryen, it served as a proud symbol to the power that resided in the crown, and all in the seven kingdoms were forced to pay their respects towards those mighty red walls.

For deep within this imposing fortress sat the most prized possession in all the land: The Iron Throne, forged from the swords of all of Aegon's conquered foes that had been fused together by dragon fire.

A symbol of the conqueror.

For three hundred years the Targaryens had held sway in Westeros. For three hundred years the Dragons had kept the Lions, Stags, Wolves, Eagles, Bears, Krakens, and all of the other great houses of Westeros at bay, either through the fire of their dragons or the swords of their armies.

However, the Targaryens reign had ended abruptly with the breakout of Robert's Rebellion, when the mighty warrior Robert Baratheon had risen up against the Mad King Aerys Targaryen II and claimed the Iron Throne for himself.

That was seventeen years ago, and now the Seven Kingdoms flourished under the rays of Summer, the abnormally long season having brought about an immense harvest, which all the lords were reaping in earnest.

Within the red walls of the keep, two figures sat across from each other at a table, one young, one old.

Tywin Lannister chuckled to himself as he regarded the chess board in front of him. The game had only just started, but it seemed that his younger opponent had already gained a slight advantage over him. He had already lost three pawns and one bishop, which his opponent had managed to snatch without incurring a single loss to his own side.

No matter. He was the master tactician who had torn down the Reynes of Castamere, after all. None could best him when it came to strategy.

"It's your move, Grandfather," the light, airy voice of his opponent said from across the table, blue eyes flashing towards him while an innocent grin spread across his youthful face.

The Lord of Casterly Rock nodded, his green eyes flashing as he glanced up at his opposition.

Seated across from him was the small form of the eleven year old Tommen Baratheon, third in line to the throne and his favorite grand-child. Unlike his older brother Joffrey (and even his sister Myrcella for that matter), Tommen truly did seem to express both sides of his parentage, and seemed to be far more sound of mind than his sociopathic brother and air-headed sister.

Deep, sweeping black hair rested atop his head, a trademark of the lords of House Baratheon. He also had the piercing Baratheon blue eyes, which stared out from his face with just the tiniest flash of silver also residing within their gaze, another trademark of the House of the Stag.

That's not to say that he had gotten nothing from the House of the Lion. Far from it, actually. He had inherited much from his mother: his face, while still delicately crafted, was harsh, regal, and beautiful, with chiseled cheek bones and a sharp nose. And if even _half_ the rumors floating around the boy's antics were true, he had certainly inherited Cersei's vindictive streak.

His fingers were long and thin, but still well-muscled, just like Jaime Lannister's, one of the finest swordsmen in the realm. Tywin had a sneaking suspicion that Tommen would grow up to be an equally outstanding swordsman, if not surpassing his uncle altogether.

Tywin lifted a piece from his own side and placed it down on a square, essentially blocking off an entire path for the young prince.

Let's see him get out of that, _hmm?_

Tommen's eyes narrowed for a moment, before he too reached out and picked up a piece. His bright blue eyes briefly met Tywin's verdant green, a spark of silvery mischief flashing within their depths, before he placed the piece down directly in the path of Tywin's.

Tywin lifted a pale-gold eyebrow at this move, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examined the board more closely. What's his angle?

Nothing to trap his piece. Tommen's pawn was protected, slightly, though he probably wouldn't take the trade since it would give Tywin easy access to his interior line.

Other than that, Tywin could see no…wait, yes, there it is. _'If I take his piece, a space will open up to allow his bishop to put my king in check. That will force me to give up my option to castle.'_

Tywin glanced up at Tommen, whose innocent smile remained firmly etched onto his finely crafted features.

Clever little brat aren't you, Grandson?

That was another thing the youngest of his grandchildren had managed to inherit: Tywin's (and to a certain extent Stannis's) exquisite military genius. He was a born strategist, and constantly bested many of the lords and ladies of the court in verbal battles of wit and intelligence, earning the respect of many of the houses.

Though Tywin had not spent much time with the boy, Tommen had already made an impressive impact upon him, both with his wit and his charismatic charm.

Still, he would not beat the Warden of the West.

Moving his knight forward, Tywin took Tommen's pawn, putting the young prince's bishop in range. _'Time to repay me the pieces you took,'_ he thought.

Tywin lifted his gaze from the board to glance back at his opponent's face, and he was shocked to see the boy's smile widen even more, becoming slightly malicious. Raising his hand, Tommen lifted his Queen from her spot and moved it all the way across the board, placing it down right next Tywin's rook.

"Check" he said, and Tywin's mouth dropped in astonishment. How did he…oh.

"My, my, so I am," he said quietly, looking down at the board in bemusement. "Well played," he said, reluctantly moving his King forward and out of check, thus sacrificing the right to castle.

"Thank you," Tommen said, taking Tywin's knight with his queen.

"Getting beaten by a child, now, are we Tywin?" a voice called from the doorway.

Both Tywin and Tommen snapped their heads up in surprise, their green and silvery-blue eyes locking onto the gaunt figure of Stannis Baratheon in the doorway. The younger brother to Tommen's father, Stannis seemed to be the opposite of King Robert in almost every way. As opposed to the fat and robust form his brother possessed, Stannis was instead incredibly thin and pale, his skin sallow and his cheekbones sunken and sharp. And while the boisterous king could often be heard making jokes and grinning like a fool, Stannis almost never seemed to smile, instead appearing to have a stony shell wrapped around him that no one could penetrate.

No one but his wife and young daughter Shireen, who was no older than Tommen himself and already being put through trials and tribulations, what with Grayscale eating up half her face.

His stormy blue eyes peered out from beneath his dark eyebrows while a small smirk wound its way across his face. His eyes met those of Tywin's for a moment as he looked over at his Uncle-in-law.

"Uncle Stannis!" Tommen yelled, a smile blooming onto his face at the sight of the man.

Stannis's smirk softened slightly at Tommen's outcry, becoming less harsh and just a few degrees warmer; not quite a smile but probably as close as he's ever going to get. "Hello Tommen," he greeted.

Tywin nodded in his own form of greeting, his green eyes roving over the Baratheon's dark clothing. "I would hardly say that I am _losing,_ " he said in answer to Stannis's earlier query. "But I can't claim to have the upper hand just yet _._ The game has only just begun, after all."

"What are you doing here Uncle Stannis?" Tommen asked, his voice cheerful and full of curiosity. "Shouldn't you be back in Dragonstone?"

Stannis nodded, moving out of the doorway and making his way over to where the two sat. "Your Father called a meeting of the Small Council," Stannis said as he pulled out a seat, his dark blue eyes locking onto the chess board on the table.

"So I'm here for a few days as we decide what to do for the coming harvest." Stannis finished, and Tommen and Tywin both nodded.

"Is Shireen here?" Tommen asked, his eyes widening in excitement.

Stannis shook his head. "She stayed behind in Dragonstone to work on her reading. Ser Davos is here though."

"How is Ser Davos nowadays?" Tywin asked absentmindedly, his green eyes traveling back down to the board as he lifted another piece. "Still wearing those finger bones around his neck?"

Stannis hummed in affirmation, his own stormy eyes watching as the young prince lifted his own piece to counter Tywin's movement. "He fares well. Though I wish he would work on _his_ reading more often."

"Some men are just not born with the right talents," Tywin said, his brow furrowing as he pondered his next move.

 _Damn_ Tommen was good at this!

"His talents lie elsewhere," Stannis defended, his usual scowl once again appearing on his face.

"I've been meaning to ask, Uncle," Tommen said, lifting his eyes to meet those of stormy blue as he moved another piece, eliciting a quiet curse from his competitor. "Why does Ser Davos wear his finger bones around his neck?" he asked, turning his head to peer up at his uncle. "Who cut them off?"

Stannis leaned back slightly, a dark eyebrow shooting up in the air. "You haven't heard the story?" he asked in surprise.

Tommen shook his head from side to side, his black hair flopping back and forth across his face.

Stannis frowned in disappointment. "You do, of course, know about the siege of Storm's End?" he asked.

Tommen nodded his head. "Of course! Ned Stark was the one who lifted the siege, right?" he asked.

Stannis twitched slightly, and Tywin could almost see the tick-mark forming on his forehead. That was always a touchy subject for Stannis.

 _'Tommen had better tread lightly here,'_ Tywin thought to himself as he moved another piece

"Yes," he said quietly after a moment, a wave of anger seeming to pass off of him and over Tommen's oblivious head.

"But before then, I held the castle, our ancestral home, for well over a year without any hope of resupply of food," Stannis continued when he had regained control of his temper.

"We were marooned, cut off from any support or possible aid, and Storm's End wasn't exactly a veritable garden. My men ate what they could find: when we ran out of food, we ate the horses. When we ran out of horses, we ate the dogs and cats. When we ran out of dogs and cats, we ate the rats and vermin of the castle, scouring across the stone floors on all fours like animals rather than men."

Stannis shook his head. "If it had not been for Davos's intervention, we would have started to eat our own dead. Fortunately, the smuggler managed to make it past the blockade and deliver us two months' worth of food and supplies. He provided turnips, wheat, bread, corn, meat, and wide variety of much needed nourishment. But for some reason, the food we all remember the most were the onions. Maybe it was because we finally had something to spice up our palates with."

Tommen nodded as he moved one of pieces, flanking Tywin's advancing assault and putting him back on the defensive. "So then you knighted him?" he asked, his eyes flicking back to glance at his uncle.

Stannis sat back in his chair, his eyes roving between his nephew and the board. "Aye; that I did. But only after Ned Stark lifted the siege, and I had Davos punished for his crimes."

Tommen paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Crimes?" he asked. "I thought there was no such thing as crime in warfare."

Stannis shook his head. "On the contrary, crimes are even more destructive during wartime than in peace; especially thievery. During a siege, a thief may find that the food stores are relatively unguarded, and may try to take more than his fill. Such crimes cannot be overlooked. I had sworn to protect Storm's End to my dying breath, and I would not tolerate anyone who would make me an oath-breaker. And so I hung all the thieves in Storm's End by their necks from the bannisters, just so everyone was perfectly clear on how I would treat those who stole from me. After all, Baratheons keep their vows."

Stannis glanced at Tywin Lannister meaningfully. The Lord of Casterly Rock shifted slightly, turning his gaze away from the Baratheon and back at the board.

Stannis smirked silently.

"A smuggler, though," he said, turning back to face his nephew. "Is just one step down from a thief, and even though he had saved us, Davos had still revealed himself to be a practiced and hardened criminal."

Stannis paused and reached out as he saw Tywin about to place his piece down, stopping the Lannister from completing his move. Gesturing with his hand, he pointed to another spot that had better cover and wouldn't be taken as easily. Otherwise, Tywin would have been left without either of his knights.

"Custom dictates that thieves have one hand removed after their crimes are discovered," Stannis continued after Tywin thanked him silently with a look from his eyes. "However, I was merciful to Ser Davos, and deemed that in the light of his actions, he should only have the top joints of his fingers removed above his second knuckles on one hand."

Stannis raised his hand and wiggled his fingers in order to illustrate his point. "Davos agreed, and afterwards took to wearing the finger bones around his neck in a small pouch, as a reminder both of his past crimes and the mercy I showed him."

Turning his head to the side, he shot another pointed look at Tywin. "After all, it's only through the rule of the land and the words of his banner men that a King may retain his power."

Tywin scoffed at the veiled jibe. "And I suppose it is also the way of Kings to run doggedly after rules and limitations that are so old and antiquated that few remember who even made them? If you wish to insult me Stannis, I suggest you do it openly. I refuse to be ashamed of my son's actions, for what he did, though dishonorable, ultimately won us the war!"

Stannis cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, won you the war, did he? And did murdering children and raping their Mother also win you the war, Lannister?"

Tywin's eyes narrowed, and reaching forward he snagged his goblet from off the table and raised it to his lips. "If you are referring to Gregor Clegane's purging of Kings Landing, then you are only validating my point. It was through the actions of individuals that Robert secured his throne, nothing more, and nothing less. More than the laws a King lays out, it is the actions that he inspires that cement his rule, not what traditions he holds to."

"Actually," Tommen said, surprising both of the men across from him. Reaching out his hand, the young prince lifted up his king and inspected it, his eyes narrowing like chips of frozen ice as they scrutinized the piece. "You're both wrong."

Setting down the piece in its original place, Tommen instead lifted his knight and moved it forward, taking Tywin's pawn and forking his bishop and his queen.

"It is neither through laws nor through actions that a King may retain his control," he said calmly, his eyes moving between his uncle and his grandfather. "Rather, it is through the will of the people that any ruler may stay on the throne."

Tywin and Stannis both scoffed at this. Tywin reached out and moved his queen out of the way, making sure that if Tommen took his bishop then his queen would take him out immediately.

"Don't be stupid, Tommen. The common people are hardly a factor in determining a King's worth," he said, a patronizing smile spreading across his face.

Tommen cocked his head to the side. "Really?" he asked, reaching out once again to pick up his knight. "When people riot in the streets because they have no food, does that not affect the Kings power?"

Unexpectedly, Tommen moved his knight not to the bishop, but rather to the right, setting it down in a spot where Tywin could not take it.

Forking his King and his Queen.

"When knights cease to pledge their worthiness because their wives and children are ravaged by plague that the King does nothing about, does that not affect his power?"

Tywin looked down at the board in shock, while Stannis peered at Tommen curiously.

"Haren the Black did not have the support of his people, and as such the riverlords abandoned him. True, he stuck by the traditions and laws of his ancestors, but they did not help him survive the Dragon fire."

Tywin searched desperately for a way to take Tommen's knight, hoping against hope that he wouldn't have to sacrifice his most powerful piece.

"When Aerys Targaryen burned his people alive, and turned half the kingdom against him, do you think that helped his power? That was the actions of one man, after all," he said, giving his Grandfather a pointed look.

Tywin sighed and shook his head, conceding that Tommen had won his piece. Reaching out his hand, he moved his king out of check, thereby leaving his queen to be taken.

Tommen smiled, but did not move to take the piece. Instead, he folded his leg over his knee and leaned forward.

"A wise man was once asked, ' _Is it better to be loved or feared?'_ He answered that it was wiser to be feared. I disagree. I believe that the key to ruling correctly is neither through fear nor love, but through respect,"

Tommen's eyes gleamed in the sunlight, and for just a moment both men could have sworn they saw the young boy's eyes flash red.

"Because the truth is, any man has the _capability_ to rule. We like to believe that our blood sets us apart from the rest of the rabble, but in reality it does not. Any oaf with more pride than brains can wave his hand around to order men to their deaths, but what truly sets us apart is our ability to command respect; respect from our subjects, respect from our peers, and respect from our superiors."

"Respect?" Stannis asked, leaning towards the young prince. "Is that your answer? A king must garner respect? Because I have seen respected kings die fall to their knees and beg for forgiveness from superior foes."

Tommen shook his head. "No, no, no, you misunderstand. What breeds respect?" he asked.

Tywin looked up from the chess board to meet his grandson's gaze. "Power," he said.

Tommen nodded. "At the end of the day, it's power that commands respect. If you have the power to rule your people, then do so. If you have the power to crush your enemies, then do so. Many kings have sat on their thrones breeding both fear and love from their subjects, but ultimately neither fear nor love will save them should they fail to garner the respect they deserve. I believe your Father, Titus Lannister had such a predicament, did he not, Grandfather?" he asked, shooting Tywin a piercing glance.

Tywin nodded slowly. "Yes, he was far too soft for his own good. His own bannermen openly mocked him for it," he said, his verdant eyes flashing. While his face remained impassive, his fist clenched on the armrest of his chair, expressing his anger silently as he was oft wont to do.

Tommen nodded once. "Exactly. They said that the House of Lannister was no longer one to be feared; that the Lords of the Rock had lost their claws. Another lion even tried to snatch it away from your family, didn't they? The Reynes of Castamere?"

Tywin nodded, and Tommen's eyes flashed.

"You struck them down, didn't you?" Tommen asked, his voice lowering to a hiss as he stared into his Grandfather's eyes. "You killed them all, flooded their house with the sea and then hunted down the last of the women and children with dogs and swords. You destroyed them so utterly that nowadays all it takes is the mere mentioning of the name for them to fall subservient to you."

Tommen reached out, picking up his own queen and moving it across the board. "That's what I want," he said, holding the queen in his hand as he raised it to the light. "To be respected and feared above all else; so that no one would ever even think of opposing me. I want them to shudder and fall onto their knees at the sound of my name, screaming out their fealty and their praise as I hand them their rewards for their service."

Placing the Queen down, Tommen's eyes flashed red once more. "That is my dream, Uncle, Grandfather. I dream of uniting the realms like never before, tying all the families under one banner with oaths that cannot be broken, forged of blood and steel. And I will see that dream reach fruition, even if I have to burn all in my path to do so."

Leaning back, Tommen folded his hands in his lap and stared evenly at the speechless men.

"And that's Checkmate," he said.

And so it was. There, laid out on the chess board, was Tywin's ensnared king, in check and with nowhere left to go. With his knight blocking his path back to the right, and a castle blocking him to the left, Tommen had moved his queen in and completely trapped Tywin.

There were no moves for the Lannister to make. No pieces he could take, no spaces he could escape to. With astonishment written across his face, Tywin leaned forward and tipped his King over, letting it clatter onto its side on the board.

Tommen smirked silently, before standing up from his seat. "Thank you so much for the game, Grandfather, Uncle. But if you don't mind, I would like to retire to my rooms. I have to practice for my lessons with Maester Pycelle tomorrow," he said, bowing low to the ground before raising his head back up to glance between the two.

Staring ashen faced at his grandson, Tywin nodded mechanically, rising from his own seat as his eyes met those deep silvery blue.

Stannis too stood from his seat. "Take care Tommen," he said evenly to his nephew, his voice not betraying even the barest sliver of emotion. The young prince's smile beamed out from his face, bright and innocent once again as opposed to the nightmarish qualities it had been just moments ago. "Thank you Uncle! Tell Ser Davos I said hello, OK?!" he asked.

Stannis nodded, and Tommen smiled again, turning about and striding through the doorway, leaving the two men to ponder exactly all that he had said.

 _'Fools'_ he thought to himself. _'They have no idea what awaits them,'_

Tommen's eyes suddenly began to change as he walked through the corridors, his bright blue eyes bleeding away to reveal irises of pure blood red, burning with darkness and power.

As he continued to move forward, Tommen allowed his pitch black magical core to seep out from him, bathing the walls in shadow and causing the stones to chip, mold, and blacken slightly as a tiny part of their life span was sapped away.

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth, harsh and violent, and without even a trace of humor within their sinister depths.

Within seconds, the façade of Tommen Baratheon was stripped away, leaving nothing behind of that smiling, innocent disguise.

For he was Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark Lord ever to walk the Earth, reborn into this new body and realm. The magic of the Seven Kingdoms fed his growing core like light fields of dried grass fed a wild fire, his power growing incrementally stronger with every second.

He was quite possibly the single most powerful being in all of Westeros.

And he was in line to the throne

* * *

A deep, low growl echoed out across the clearing as the Shadowcat moved forward, its piercing blue eyes locked onto those of pure emerald green.

A shiver ran up and down Harry's spine as the cat moved out of the shadows, slowly stalking towards the two wolf pups. Every step the cat took caused its back to ripple and flow, accentuating the powerful muscles contained beneath its striped fur. Its long, protruding fangs glimmered white in the sunlight, and the claws on its paws flashed a deadly silver.

Harry's own hackles raised as the Shadowcat approached, a small growl escaping from his lips as his jet black fur puffed up to make himself seem bigger.

The cat paused in its advance, its eyes alighting on the pup. It snorted in amusement, before crouching down, its tail flicking from side to side.

Harry's eyes widened. He had seen bobcats do this before!

 _It's preparing to pounce!_

 _"RUN!"_ he shouted as the cat launched itself into the air, hurling itself towards the pups with its mouth spread wide to reveal pearly white fangs.

Harry darted to the side, yelping in terror as the big cat landed not two feet behind him, the predator snarling and lashing out in aggression.

Harry was knocked off his feet as his paw snagged on a stray root, and he went tumbling forward into the bushes. However, a cry from the clearing had him back on his feet in an instant and pivoting about, his green eyes searching for his brother.

He gasped when he saw him.

When the Shadowcat had landed, Harry had broken off to the right, assuming his brother would have the sense to go the opposite direction. However, it seemed that the inexperienced pup had foolishly attempted to follow after Harry, and had not been fast enough to escape the predator's grasp.

He was now pinned down underneath a massive paw, his whitish gray body trembling in terror as he stared into the deep blue eyes of the Northern hunter.

Harry let out a growl, a curious sensation of protectiveness rising up in his gut as he started to move forward.

A small part of him, the logical part, kept saying that this was a terrible idea and would probably get him killed. However, a much larger portion of his head was screaming that he just couldn't let his brother die without at least _trying_ to save him.

With a snarl, Harry charged forward, his still developing fangs bared and glinting in the sunlight.

The Shadowcat's eyes were drawn to his movements, though, and with a snarl of its own the cat turned and batted its huge paw at Harry, sending him careening through the air to smack against the trunk of the Weirwood tree.

Harry's vision swam before his eyes as he crumpled to the ground, his forehead sliced open by the big cat's claws and blood leaking down into his vision. A whimper escaped his parted lips as his tongue lolled out, the world threatening to go dark as he teetered on the edge of consciousness.

An earsplitting shriek suddenly rend the air, and Harry was thrown right back into consciousness. Lifting his bleeding head, his bright green eyes refocusing after a second of blurry vision to see where the sound was coming from.

What greeted him could be captured in a single moment, one he would never forget.

There, not ten feet away from him, lay his brother, his tiny, helpless body pinned beneath the massive paw of the Shadowcat. His bright yellow eyes stared upwards in terror, his paws splayed out above him in a feeble attempt to ward off his doom.

Above him loomed the black and blue hulking monstrosity of the Shadowcat, its raging blue eyes locked on fearful yellow while its mouth was opened up in a roar. Its fur wrinkled around its whiskers as its lips were pulled back to reveal two rows of terrifying fangs, gleaming brilliant white in the sun.

Its right paw was raised high in the air, the sunlight reflecting off its razor sharp claws as the sliced through the air, like an executioner's axe.

It all hung there, suspended in time, or so it seemed; one moment stretched out to an infinity, all for Harry's viewing pleasure.

And then, it unfroze.

Like the scythe of the dreaded Reaper, the paw of the Shadowcat came slicing down through the air, straight for his brother's throat.

A snick of meat.

A splash of blood.

The smell of copper and pinewood.

Harry's eyes widened in horror as the Shadowcat paused and turned to stare at him, its blue eyes burning with an alien hunger.

His brother was dead.

* * *

Imagine Voldemort's surprise when he had first regained his full consciousness at the age of five and discovered that he was royalty. He, Tom Riddle, a prince? Exquisite!

Too bad he was only second in line to the throne. He would have to do something about that soon.

Unfortunately for him, his "mother" seemed to dote on Joffrey, the older of his two siblings, like a mother cat would treat a newborn kitten, always coddling him and spoiling him rotten despite the fact that he was already sixteen years old.

No matter. The extra leeway allowed Tom the freedom to explore and grow at his leisure, and now at the age of eleven he finally had full control over his massive and incredibly dark core.

However, he had been hitting a small problem: his core was getting to be just a little _too_ large. It weighed upon his splintered soul like an iron anchor, constantly attempting to devour him in darkness.

Tom shuddered to think of what would happen to him if he allowed that to happen.

Taking a left down a corridor, Tom stopped at the halfway point. Reaching out with his right hand, he touched a single brick on the wall that seemed to jut out slightly from the rest of the bricks. Instead of resisting his touch, however, the stone gave beneath his fingers and sank into the wall. A small *click* could be heard from within the wall as a small mechanism was activated, and with the sound of brick sliding on brick a large slab of stone slid back into the rest of the wall to reveal a secret entrance.

Tom's grin was back on his face as he peered into the dark passage. Many did not believe the stories, but legend has it that after Aegon the Conqueror passed away, his second-born son Maegor Targaryen took up his Father's work to finish the Red Keep. However, rumor has it that he had designed a system of elaborate passageways and secret rooms to be woven in throughout the Keep, allowing his Master of Whispers to spy on all who walked within the halls of the Red Keep.

No one could say for sure or not if this was the truth, but the fact remains that after the completion of the Red Keep, Maegor ordered the death of all the builders who had worked on the structure. Who knows, it might have been to ensure their silence.

Many in the past had gone looking for these 'Secret Passages' but none had ever been able to find them.

However, none of them had ever lived in Hogwarts, where the secrets were even _harder_ to find.

Tom moved quietly down the dark passageway, the entrance sealing up behind him with a few scrapes of stone and clicks of the opening mechanism. With a push of his magic, several werlights popped into existence around him, their multicolored glow highlighting the windowless tunnel for the Dark Lord.

As he continued through the passageway, the lights landed on paintings on either side of the wall, showing images of long forgotten scenes from history, depicting the history of Old Valyria.

Finally, Tom came to the end of the passageway: a massive, ironclad door with an intricately carved depiction of a dragon on the surface. With a wave of his hand, Tom's magic surged forward, wrapping around the incredibly heavy doors and opening them without even the slightest hint of a squeak.

Such was the craftsmanship of the Valyrians.

Stepping through the door, a smirk spread across his face as he gazed at his proudest discovery yet: the Targaryens secret library.

Rows and rows of bookshelves met Tom's gaze, all packed with Valyrian secrets and scrolls of ancient power. Tom had only just begun to work out the intricacies of the Valyrian written language, so for a large part the contents of the novels remained a mystery to the Dark Lord.

Pausing in the middle of the room, Tom turned his head as a familiar hissing reached his ears. His smirk softened slightly as his gaze was drawn downwards, becoming less harsh and more affectionate.

 _~"Tom, you're back!"~_ a sibilant voice hissed from within the shadows of the bookshelves. Tom smiled widely and held out his hand to the shadows, gesturing for the owner of the voice to come forward. _~"Why, so I am Samhain. Why don't you come out so I can take a look at you?"~_ he asked.

The soft sound of scraping could be heard echoing throughout the chamber, and soon a chord of poisonous green scales came slithering up to Tom, brilliant yellow eyes peering into his own ruby red.

The snake was two feet long, barely a baby by his species' standards, and his scales glinted gorgeously in the light of the torches and werlights. _~"How was your lessssssons with Petyr?"~_ Samhain asked, his body coiling over towards Toms and wrapping around his leg.

Slowly, the snake began to coil around and around Tom's leg, climbing up his body to coil around his waist, to his torso, to finally wrap around his arms, his head resting easily in the Dark Lord's hands. Voldemort smiled genuinely, his red eyes flashing possessively as he stroked the serpent's head, running his fingers over the delicate red feathers that grew out from the top of his head.

He would never get over the rush it felt to have such a dangerous creature at his beck and call. For coiled in his arms was the pride of his life: a basilisk hatchling, barely a month old and already the size of an adult garden snake. His eyes, while still chilling, could not kill nor even paralyze yet, but his fangs were still as deadly as they would ever be. His brilliant red feathers that adorned his head would one day molt into a beautiful crest, which would strike fear into all who had the misfortune to gaze upon it.

 _~"Well enough. The Master of Coin is always very contrite with his lessons on economics, and I even had time to play a game of chess with Tywin and Stannis."~_

The snake hummed softly, its body flowing through Tom's fingers to crawl back over to his body. _~"Did you win?"~_ he asked, wrapping his serpentine body around the Dark Lord's neck.

Voldemort scoffed. _~"OF COURSE I WON? What do you take me for, some kind of imbecile?"~_ he asked, staring affronted at the snake.

Samhain let out a choking laugh, his forked tongue flicking in and out to show his mischievous delight. _~"Hardly, but I have found that you have grown rather overconfident as of late,"~_ he said, his feathers puffing up slightly as Tom reached up to scratch them. _~"Be sure not to overstretch yourself. You didn't wake up for hours the last time you did that."~_

Tom nodded. Samhain was, of course, referring to when he had had his vision. It had happened suddenly, and quite unexpectedly. One minute he had been reading a book, the next he had been plunged into a confusing mass of thoughts, inflections, and light. He had eventually found himself in the mind of what appeared to be a wolf pup, who was refusing to take part in cannibalism despite the fact that he was hardly more than skin and bone himself. Tom had been forced to remedy his situation before he could finally extract himself from the other's mind.

Curiously enough, he had emerged from the whole experience oddly rejuvenated, his magical core seeming a hundred times lighter than before. A curious lightness pervaded the darkness now, and his magic had no longer threatened to eat him.

It had faded after a few days, but during that time he had felt better than he had in over fifty years.

It was amazing.

And it had been over far too quickly.

 _~"Alright."~_ he said, looking Samhain dead in the eye. _~"As long as you stop lecturing me."~_

Samhain paused, his bright yellow eyes peering into Tom's ruby ones, sending chills running up and down his spine as the snakes developing magic attempted to attack him. _~"I'll think about it,"~_ Samhain said in answer, his tongue flicking out once again mischievously.

* * *

Harry hauled himself to his feet, his back to the Godswood and his eyes focused on the incoming predator. The Shadowcat growled and pawed the ground, its bright blue eyes glaring with malevolence.

The scent of blood permeated the entire clearing as his brother bled out, his corpse quivering with aftershocks as his nerves refused to stop moving despite the fact that the wolf was already dead. Harry's green eyes flicked from the corpse and back to the Shadowcat, before he realized his mistake.

SHIT! NEVER, _EVER_ , **_EVER_** TAKE YOUR EYES OFF A FUCKING PREDATOR!

Jumping forward, Harry rolled underneath the big cat's pounce, the Shadowcat's bloody claws whistling over his head as they just barely missed him. Regaining his footing, Harry spun around, his eyes once again locking onto the form of the Shadowcat as it landed where he had stood not seconds ago. A deep, rumbling growl echoed out across the clearing as it pivoted its head to stare at him, its deadly blue eyes flashing with absolute hatred.

Gulping, Harry took a step back and almost slipped in something wet. Letting out a yelp, Harry quickly regained his footing and glanced down, looking to see what had tripped him up.

A pool of bright red blood stained the ground, and his brother's sightless yellow eyes met his own horrified gaze.

He had almost slipped in his own brother's blood.

A roar alerted Harry at the last moment that he was still in danger, and he glanced up just in time to see the blur of black and blue-striped fur just before it hit him in the chest, the dagger like claws digging into his chest and knocking him to the ground.

Harry let out a mournful scream as his back was slammed into the ground, wetting his black fur with his brother's slick red blood. His nostrils were filled with the scent of copper and death as the Shadowcat loomed over him, peering down with those evil blue eyes, appearing for all the world to be chunks of frozen ice.

 _'Is this it?'_ Harry thought. ' _Is this how I'm going to die? Without ever knowing what any of this means?'_

 _NO!_

 _I will not die! Not like this! Not on my back! Not in a pool of blood! NO!_

Harry's brow lowered over his eyes, and his mouth opened wide to bare his white fangs in a snarl. He would not be beaten!

The cat smirked above him, amused at his defiance of the inevitable. Bringing its paw down, the Shadowcat backhanded the pup, smacking the snarl off his face and sending his head spinning. Harry let out a cough, his green eyes widening at the realization that for all his thoughts, and all his roaring and wailing, there was nothing he could do.

He was going to die.

The Shadowcat snarled in victory and raised its bloodstained paw, readying to take another life.

Harry closed his eyes, tilting his head up and baring his throat. _'Just make it quick,'_ he begged.

The Shadowcat began to swing his paw and-

*WHAM*

"RooaAAOORRW?!" the Shadowcat cried as it was thrown

Harry's eyes flew openas the heavy weight of the Shadowcat was ripped off form his stomach, releasing him from the constricting hold. He gasped at what he saw.

Soft, grayish white fur met his vision, while bright golden eyes peered down at him in concern. A warm, soothing scent entered his nostrils, overpowering the scent of his brother's blood and calming down his racing heart.

His mother had arrived, her approach masked by the scent of blood and musk put off by the Shadowcat.

With a roar, the Shadowcat righted itself, getting back on all four legs and spinning about to look for its attacker. It halted in its tracks when its cold blue eyes landed on the form of the gigantic wolf, her gaze locking with the cat's in a menacing glare.

A growl was loosed from the cat's lips as it recognized its ancestral rival, the Direwolf. Bending its legs, it leaped high into the air, its paws outstretched to attack the Wolf-mother.

With practiced ease, the mother Direwolf stepped aside and lashed out with her own paw, sending her feline attacker rolling away from her.

Spinning about, she flipped Harry over with her paw, nudging him towards the forest. "Go," she barked, her eyes locking onto those of pure green. "Find your siblings. Run. NOW!" she yelled, nudging him again as the Shadowcat got up and began to shake off its dizziness.

Harry scampered into the bushes, his heart beating in terror as the sound of the two predator's battle reached his ears.

Harry paused when he heard his Mother cry out in pain. He turned to look back at the clearing, now nothing more than a light through the bushes. Should he…

Another yelp of pain came from the clearing again, and cursing himself, Harry retreated back to the edge of the clearing, pushing through the bushes once again.

His jaw dropped at what he saw.

His mother and the Shadowcat were both circling each other, snarling and growling at each other. Several deep cuts were staining his mother's snout, while a chunk of fur and skin was missing from the Shadowcat's flank.

Still, it seemed that the Direwolf was the more seriously injured of the two.

As they came together again, it immediately became apparent to the young pup as to why that was: while a Direwolf's fangs were a force to be feared, a Shadowcat also possessed a set of claws; ones that they could utilize much more easily than the less agile wolf.

The Direwolf lunged, trying to sink her teeth into the Shadowcat's jugular, but the northern feline was far too fast for her and swatted her snout aside with his paw, yet another mark forming on the wolf's snout.

With a snarl, the Shadowcat lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the Direwolf's unprotected neck fur. Harry let out a gasp of shock as his mother yelped in pain, but fortunately for the canine she had had the foresight to move back just in time. Pulling away from the cat, the Direwolf winced as much of her neck fur was ripped out by the roots, causing a stinging sensation to blossom from the area.

The Shadowcat growled and lashed out again with his paw, aiming for her eyes. Dodging the blow, the mother wolf shot her head forward, aiming for the cat's now off balance right side. Sensing the strike, the feline pivoted even more to the right, so that the Direwolf's teeth sank into his shoulder, rather than the relatively thinly furred skin around his neck.

Despite missing her target, the Direwolf managed to make do with her current angle and bit down hard, driving her teeth deep into the Shadowcat's flesh and scraping against the bone.

The feline yowled in pain and spun about, dislodging the wolf and sending her toppling backwards onto the ground.

Moving with speed and grace hitherto unseen, the Shadowcat sprang on top of the downed wolf, its claws spread wide and its mouth open in a snarl.

The Mother Direwolf was completely defenseless.

* * *

 _No._

* * *

Tom sat down on a chair with a book on his lap, his notes on decoding Valyrian in one hand and a notepad on the other. He paused in his reading as he felt a curious tingling sensation back of his head.

* * *

Harry took a step into the clearing as the cat landed on top of his mother, digging his teeth into her neck again, only this time blood began to gush forth as the wolf let out a scream of pain.

* * *

 _NO!_

* * *

Tom's eyes widened as he felt his magic begin to writhe and squirm, bubbling up from beneath the surface of his skin. With a gasp, he threw the book off his lap and stumbled away from the shelves, one hand reaching up to clasp his chest in pain as his magic slammed against his ribcage.

 _'What's happening to me?!'_ he thought in horror.

 _~"Tom!"~_ Samhain cried, rushing over to his Master's side. _~"What's wrong?!"~_

* * *

Harry's whole form began to glow and pulse with light as the scent of blood once again filled the air. He had already lost one family member today. _He would not lose a second_.

* * *

 _NONONONONONONONON-_

* * *

Tom kicked Samhain away from him, fear alighting within his brilliant red eyes. _~"Samhain GET AWAY!"~_ he cried.

* * *

 ** _"GET AWAY FROM HER!"_** Harry screamed.

* * *

And with a resounding *BOOM*, Harry exploded into light, his magic flinging itself out from his body in a massive vortex of light, heat, and destruction. The Shadowcat was vaporized in seconds, along with anything else within a twenty meter radius of him; the only exceptions being his mother, the body of his brother, and the Weirwood tree.

* * *

Tom cried out as he was flung high into the air, his magic exploding outwards from his body in waves of darkness, firing spells of the darkest variety all over the place.

The runes of protection that Tom himself had drawn on the bookcases to safeguard them began to flash as they were hit with wave after wave of black magic of the most foul kind.

 _~"Tom! Oh GODS, TOM!"~_ Samhain shrieked from below, cowering beneath an armchair as he watched in horror as his screaming Master continued to explode, the waves of darkness flying off of him in sweeps of heat and rage.

* * *

Harry shut his eyes as an unimaginable pain swept through him, burning his insides and seeming to set his bones on fire. He imagined that this must be what it felt like to get _turned inside out_ , because it seemed that everything on the inside of his skin did not like its current place and was trying to get out.

Wind howled in the wolf pups ears as his magic began to swirl into a miniature cyclone, tearing up the ground and burning what was left into a charred rubble.

 _'Oh Gods, make it STOP!'_ Harry thought as he curled up even deeper into himself, the cut on his head glowing with light radiating from within him.

* * *

Tom's eyes rolled back in his head as his consciousness was thrown outwards, called away by some unseen force. It almost felt as if it were an involuntary legilimens, if such a thing could happen.

He stopped when he slapped into something else. Another mind, this one also roiling in pain and chaos.

* * *

Harry jerked in surprise when he felt the consciousness from the den collide with his swirling thoughts, once again feeling the peculiar darkness and callous indifference that was characteristic of it. Although, the consciousness did seem to be lacking in the latter.

Beneath closed eyelids, his eyes rolled back in his head, exposing his whites so that he could _'see'_ the other.

* * *

Tom let out a shriek of pain as his mental eyes were blinded by the light from the other entity.

So bright!

TOO BRIGHT!

* * *

Harry panted in fear as all around him darkness attempted to swallow him, their hot tendrils grabbing onto his fur and tugging him this way and that.

It was so dark!

SO DARK!

* * *

 _TOO BRIGHT!_

* * *

 _SO DARK!_

* * *

 ** _RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGH!_**

* * *

 ** _AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!_**

* * *

Tom finally managed to refocus his mind away from the pain, ignoring the fact that it felt like every bone in his body was breaking and instead pushing his way through the light to grab ahold of the other consciousness.

"Stop it!" he shouted, shaking the other furiously. "Are you trying-

* * *

-to kill us both?!" the other consciousness shouted into Harry's ear. Harry could only cry harder as the darkness pressed in on all sides, surrounding both him and the other.

"STOP-

* * *

-IT!" Tom screamed again, giving the entity another firm shake as a wave of pain wracked his physical form, this one feeling as if he had attempted to vomit up his entire stomach and intestines.

The other entity just sobbed and cried. "I CAN'T!" it screamed, trembling violently, probably in just as much pain as Tom himself was. "I JUST-"

* * *

"-CAN'T STOP!" Harry shrieked, yanking and tugging on his magic to try to draw it back within himself. He cried as his spiritual hold was burned away by the power of his own magic, the energy wild and vicious, dancing just out of his consciousness's reach. Oh so tantalizingly close!

He felt the other consciousness sigh in exasperation. "Fine," it said quietly. "Then I'll do it-

* * *

 _-for you!"_ Tom said angrily.

The weakling couldn't even get ahold of his own magic?! _Damn_ that's pathetic!

With not a second's hesitation, Tom surged forward and grabbed ahold of the other's exploding magical core. His dark magic wrapped around and around the glowing light, absorbing its energy and soaking up the excess heat in a stranglehold of power. It was incredibly difficult, as Tom's own power was flying completely off the handle; as if its metaphorical leash had been cut, releasing all the pent up rage and aggression stored within Tom's splintered soul.

As he squeezed harder with his limited strength the light began to slowly grow dim. The waves of pain began to come less frequently, and not as intense as before.

* * *

Harry let out a sigh of relief as he felt the other grabbing ahold of his magic, but he still couldn't breathe with all the suffocating blackness.

As he regained more and more control of his magic, he began to use it to push away the darkness from around his mind. Instantly, light began to pierce the blackness, finally giving the darkness form: a writhing mass of tendrils and arms, pulsing with fire and hatred.

* * *

Tom jumped in surprise as he felt his own magic starting to reel back in, and he felt the entity's hand on it, his light feeding the darkness and dragging it back from its wild explosions. "WHATEVER IT IS YOU'RE DOING-"

* * *

"-DON'T STOP!" the other consciousness shouted at him. Harry nodded and started to yank push away the darkness even harder, loosening its stranglehold on his body.

Come on, so close, it was-

* * *

-almost there! It was so close! Just a few-

* * *

-more pushes and it ought to snap-

* * *

-back into-

* * *

 **PLACE!**

* * *

 **PLACE!**

* * *

…..

Harry let out a gasp as his magic finally retracted all the way into his body, coiling up inside his chest like a snake wrapping around his heart. His tiny body collapsed to the ground, keeling over from the stress of having his physical form almost obliterated. Every inch of his skin ached, and the smell of burnt fur and coppery blood reached his nose, and not all of it was from the Shadowcat.

He stirred when he felt a cold wet nose nuzzling his forehead, tracing along the curious shaped scar that had formed from where the Shadowcat had struck him.

Harry slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the bleariness that came with his disorientation. A quiet grunt reached his ears, and his bright green orbs swiveled up to meet those of yellow, their golden depths filled with fear and concern. Her neck had stopped bleeding, probably as a result from the magic that he had used.

"My Son," his mother spoke finally, her voice quiet but full of reverent awe. The light from the sun threw her face into sharp contrast, outlining every hair on her damaged form in exquisite detail. "What have you done?" she asked, breaking eye contact with her pup to stare around the crater they now sat in.

Looking away from his Mother, Harry stood up and glanced around, his eyes widening as he saw the devastation laid out before him. The carnage of the forest had been complete and absolute, with not a single plant, animal, or anything in between left untouched in a thirty meter circle around him.

All except for the body of his brother and the Weirwood tree, which still stood strong and firm, no single leaf missing from its branches.

"I have-"

* * *

 _"-no idea"~_ Tom gasped, rising from his place on the floor and into a sitting position. He had fallen from his place of levitation shortly after he and the other entity had succeeded in getting ahold of their magic, and now he sat with Samhain strewn across his lap, staring horrified at his face like he was about to vanish.

 _~"It felt as if my soul was ripped out of my body and flung across half of Westeros. And believe me, I know what that feels like."~_ Tom said, reaching up to scratch the spot on his chest where his magic had retracted into. A small scar was forming there, the only mark he had attained from the ordeal, and from the look of it it was likely to be permanent.

Samhain hissed in concern, his poisonous green form moving closer to Tom's face as he slithered forward. _~"How do you feel right now?"~_ the basilisk asked.

Shaking his head, Tom reached out and grabbed the end of the table to push himself up and onto his feet. _~"To be completely honest,"~_ he said, stretching his arms out above his head. _~"I feel at least twenty times better than I did before. Like I could take on a hundred Jaime Lannisters with one arm behind my back and still come out the victor."~_

Samhain cocked his head to the side, his tongue flicking in and out of his mouth in confusion. _~"Are you sure you didn't hit your head when you came back down?"~_ he asked, only half kidding.

Tom scoffed. _~"No,"~_ he answered, his tone completely serious. _~"But I am sure about one thing."~_ he said, his red eyes beginning to rekindle with an age old flame of excitement.

 _~"And what's that?"~_ Samhain asked, climbing up Tom's body to wrap around his shoulders.

Tom grinned, his smile flashing feral in the torchlight. _~"That person, wherever he is, was in the middle of the woods when he activated his magic. And I know for a fact that there are no Weirwood trees in any of the forests south of the Neck."~_

Reaching up to scratch Samhain's crest, Tom turned to look behind himself, his red eyes drawing an instant bead on a painting hanging from the wall; depicting epic mountains, rolling rivers, and sprawling forests, all covered in snow. _~"We're going to find this wizard, Samhain. And to do that…"~_

His eyes flashed dangerously. _~"We're going to the North!"~_

* * *

Harry's mother stared down at her small black cub as he surveyed the damage he had caused, worry written across every inch of her still aching body.

She had always known that this one had been God-blessed, but she didn't realize he would be…well… _this blessed._

Never, in all her two hundred and eighty six years of life, had she seen such destruction come from so small a source. Her little pup held more power than many of the Gods could ever dream of obtaining. Had he not been stopped, she had no doubt that it would have killed him and probably everyone else in the North.

Such a power would have to be protected and controlled, lest it _truly_ destroy them all.

He was lucky to have gotten away from this encounter with nary a scratch.

Well, almost.

There, on the little wolf's forehead, lay a mark etched into his skin, almost like a brand. Two vertical lines connected by another, diagonal line.

A Lightning Bolt Scar.

"Come on," she said, causing the young one to snap his head back up to meet her gaze, the angry red scar visible even through his thick black fur. "Let's go home."

* * *

 **And that's a wrap folks! Hope you liked it, cause I had to jump through a lot of hoops to get it to you. Now, I'm going to be gone on a trip for three days, and I won't be able to do any editing within this time; not until I get back. So if you could make my job a lot easier and point out any mistakes you find I would be most appreciative.**

 **Thanks, and I hope you liked it! Ta-ta-** Arudon

 **(Review, or I'll feed you to Samhain)**

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